


Crutches

by spinner33



Series: CM - Season Five [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU Coda to George Foyet Arc, Crutch Sex, Desk Sex, Discussion of Death, Discussion of Physical Assault, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic/Sorcery, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, discussion of child abuse, discussion of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4969981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Coda to George Foyet Arc.</p><p>Reid and Hotch learn to lean on each other, sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Close the case. Gather the team. Get on the plane. Go home. Get off the plane. 

Go back to the office. Complete the reports. Wonder which case will be next.

Another day in the life of Aaron Hotchner.

Go home to a quiet (deathly quiet) apartment. Lock the door. Have a drink. 

Stare at the walls. Miss Jack. Sleep on the couch because you can’t bear to be alone in your own bedroom.

Another night in the life of Aaron Hotchner.

Get up. Go to work. Start another case. Get on the plane. Do your job. Close the case. Repeat.

Aaron needed the routine of his job, because that was all that was holding him together at this point. His physical wounds from Foyet were healing, but the emotional scars were never going away. He needed his job like he needed air. When he was away from his job, he literally couldn’t breathe.

Strauss was clawing at Hotch like a starved jackal, desperate to undermine him and keep him from being a danger to her own position. She had a history of destroying the people who she felt could be a threat to her own job security. There was truth to Strauss’s accusations though, and that truth did hurt. Hotch was distracted – there was no denying that – and it was affecting how he performed his job. He couldn’t stop thinking about where Jack and Haley were, and he couldn’t get Foyet out of his mind, not for one minute. While taking him off the job might have seemed like the right plan, it was absolutely the wrong direction to go.  
Without his job to focus on, without the routine to keep him in line, without the place to be and the things to do, Aaron would have been out there on the run, trying to find Foyet, leaving death and mayhem in his wake until he found the man. Without his job to keep him grounded, Hotch would have been running wild and mad through the world in an effort to stop Foyet one way or the other.

Hotch slid the key into his office door, surprised to find that his trash can had been moved. He crept inside, noting that someone had straightened and organized the files on his desk, had put the files in the outbox, which he had left in the inbox when he and his team had departed for Long Island this morning.

No, wait. That had been yesterday morning.

Hotch glanced around his office, towards the large divan against the far wall. Dr. Reid’s crutches were propped up beside the divan. The doctor himself was balled up on the large cushions. In the faint light which bled from the bullpen through the window blinds, Hotch could make out Reid’s boyish features, how he was frowning in discomfort and upset. It probably hurt like hell to be curled up on the divan with an injured leg. Was he using Hotch’s spare jacket as a blanket?

Hotch regretted being so hard on Reid, and more so, he regretted reprimanding Reid in front of the rest of the team. Garcia’s highly inappropriate and utterly ridiculous remark had annoyed Aaron. Hotch usually ignored her remarks, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was annoying him. He wished she would take a good hard look at herself though. It was time for her to act like a grown adult instead of an artsy-fartsy, avant-garde college girl. Moreover, it was inappropriate for a federal agent to carry themselves in such a manner. Hotch knew for a fact if the tables were turned, and Reid had made such a remark to Garcia, “You’re my bitch now”, that Penelope would have been screaming and shouting about sexual harassment. She would have been demanding for Reid to be called up on the carpet and punished. But Garcia had literally made a homophobic slur against her co-worker. She had called an effeminate man a ‘bitch’. If that’s not a homophobic slur, what was it? She had thought herself so fucking clever for couching the slur in bad humor.

When he thought about it, though, Hotch realized there was no need to reprimand Garcia for what she had said. Reid had not seemed to have taken overt offense at her words. But Spencer had spent his time disturbing the peaceful tranquility of Penelope’s office, driving her ape-shit crazy by being in her personal space, and messing with all of her precious things. Reid had already had his revenge on Garcia his own way. Who was whose bitch now? No need to do anything further as far as Garcia was concerned.

Reid was the master of passive-aggressive revenge ploys, and Hotch should know, because he had been the target of those ploys himself from time to time. He had a sneaking suspicion tonight might be another one of those times. Hotch remembered that his parting words to Reid yesterday morning had been, ”You and I will talk about this when I get back. Wait for me”. The little voice in Hotch’s head spoke up as Aaron stared at Reid’s sleeping form.

You ordered him to wait, so he waited. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. But he’s also going out of his way to wait for you, wanting to make you feel bad about asking him to wait in the first place.

Reid had taken Hotch at his word. The doctor was sleeping here, like a faithful hound, even though it likely meant he was going to get a whack on the nose. Not just waiting, but waiting so dramatically – this was Reid’s opening gambit in the game about to unfold with Hotch. Aaron analyzed each move very carefully. The show of submission to the command to wait, sleeping in Hotch’s office, straightening his things. By showing submission, Reid was displaying his acknowledgement of his subordinate role, probably in an attempt to defuse Hotch’s anger. Sleeping in Hotch’s office instead of the break room meant that Hotch couldn’t possibly ignore Reid when he returned to the office from the case. Tidying up Hotch’s office had been a show of meekness as well.

Aaron was not going to be so easy to manipulate. He was onto Reid’s game. Hotch had every right to be angry. You can twist the truth, but you do not lie to Aaron Hotchner.

Hotch wanted to punish Reid. He wanted to punish him so badly. Reid needed to be punished. He needed to be reminded of his position with Hotch. If Spencer was going to constantly play the part of an indignant, rebellious child any time Hotch called him on the carpet for bad behavior, then Reid was going to find out that Hotch wasn’t always a benevolent father figure. Hotch could also be a stern and even brutal parent.

Hotch stepped back out of the office and closed the door quietly, carrying his attaché along with him. He walked down the ramp and over to Reid’s desk, second-guessing himself about what tactic to take. Now was not the time to chicken out. He knew what he had to do, and what’s more, he was looking forward to it. He steeled himself to charge back in his office, but Rossi popped out of his office and waddled sleepily down the ramp.

“You missed Garcia. Morgan took her home,” Dave commented.

“Hmm,” Hotch nodded in reply, not wanting to say that no he hadn’t really missed her whatsoever, and he was glad she was gone.

“She was on the warpath, wanting to talk to you about letting Reid piss around in her space and annoy her,” Rossi continued.

Hotch smiled. “She was the one who thought she was going to boss him around while he was here. Having him underfoot for a couple days undoubtedly changed her mind about that.”

“You’re lucky that Morgan intercepted her. He talked her down, took her home.”

“Remind me to thank Morgan,” Aaron said.

“Reid was driving her crazy,” Dave muttered.

Hotch made an indiscernible face, somewhere between a snarky smirk and true sympathy. Rossi wondered which half was going to win out. Hotch glanced back towards his office after picking up a couple files off of Reid’s desk, because Rossi was watching him, wondering what he was doing there, what his purpose was,  
why he kept glancing back at the office door.

“You want to catch dinner?” Rossi asked.

“No, thanks. Work to do,” Hotch declined, showing him Reid’s files. “See you in the morning.”

“Not unless you’re coming home with me,” Rossi replied.

“What?” Hotch buzzed.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, Aaron. Why don’t you leave the work here for a change? Put the files down and go home. Take a break. Take a breather. Go to the mountains. Go fishing. Go take in a ball game. Go do something this weekend besides work. Do something you enjoy. You do remember how to enjoy yourself, don’t you?”

“Hmph,” Hotch muttered crossly. “See you Monday,” he amended, wishing everyone on this team would stop making judgments about how he wanted to spend his time. Rossi waved on the way to the elevator. How in the world did they think Hotch was going to relax, not knowing where Jack and Haley were, not knowing where Foyet was, not knowing what Strauss was going to do to him next to try and push him out of his job? There wasn’t a person on this planet who could have relaxed under those conditions. No one!

Hotch went back to his office door. This time he entered as loudly as possible, dropping his attaché where it would bang against the desk. He threw Reid’s files noisily down on the desktop, and kicked the chair out of the way so it would bang against the bookcases behind his desk.

Reid came awake, yelping and flailing about. He spilled himself down onto the floor in an inelegant pile of limbs and mechanics. He expelled a shout of genuine pain, and muttered filthy words. Then he remained on the floor, whimpering softly.

Hotch instantly forgot his anger. He hurried over to the divan and positioned himself to lift Reid around the waist, sliding his arms around Reid from behind. To his surprise, Reid clawed out of his grip, and dropped back to the ground with another shout of pain.

“Stop it! Put me down! Hotch!!”

Aaron did not make any further attempt to help Reid up off the floor. With a series of agonized hisses and moans, Spencer moved from being on all-fours to sitting flat on his backside. He bit his bottom lip, closed his eyes, squinted hard. He stretched out his wounded leg in slow increments, moaning and trembling.  
Hotch waited at the perimeter of Reid’s person, flooding with guilt. He wondered at first why was Reid in so much pain. Then it dawned on Aaron that Reid was refusing to take pain killers. While Hotch had the benefit of a pill any time he felt he needed to stave off the tearing, ripping, pulling feeling in his healing wounds, Reid was not permitting himself that relief, for fear of reigniting his drug addiction. It was perfectly evident that Reid was very much in pain too. The young man was ghostly white, and breathing very shallowly.

“Reid, let me help you,” Hotch murmured, reaching forward.

“If you try to pick me up again, I'm going to smack you with my crutches,” Reid threatened in measured words of icy doom.

Hotch stepped back for a moment to ponder the threat. He immediately frowned and charged forward again. He wasn’t going to let the man roll around in agony on his office floor, and furthermore, he wasn’t going to let Reid tell him what he should and shouldn’t do. Hotch put both arms around Reid’s thin waist and lifted him up, resting his bottom on the divan.

It was then that Hotch realized the consequences of his actions. It was too soon for him to be lifting anything besides himself. Pain shot through every corner of his chest and abdomen. He went down on his knees, gasping in pain, seeing stars. He leaned gratefully against the nearest, cushiony thing. He breathed carefully until the stars slowly vanished. It took about a minute before he was able to breathe without hurting himself. He was leaning on something warm and angular, something that smelled like cinnamon and coffee. Aaron was utterly mortified to discover he had his face buried against Spencer’s shoulder, that his nose was rubbing the doctor’s protruding clavicle.

“Hotch, have you always been this stubborn?” Spencer whispered.

Aaron nodded.

“Do you need help?” Reid asked nervously. He lifted one hand, resting it tentatively in Hotch’s hair.

“No,” Hotch groaned, lifting himself upright. Again he bent down, face to face, attempting to slide his arms around Reid’s waist. Spencer studied him, blinking those huge, puppy eyes, arms curling up protectively in front of his own chest like small hooks. For a moment, Spencer actually looked a little scared. Then Reid slid his hands both onto Hotch’s arms, pushing Aaron gently upright and away.

“I can do it myself,” Reid insisted firmly. “Can you give me my crutches?” he amended, biting his lip, gazing down at the floor, and back up at Hotch.

Without arguing, Aaron carefully stooped, and picked up the crutches, and handed them to Spencer. He waited anxiously as Reid pulled himself up into a standing position. Reid’s knee made audible complaints, crackling like a broken tree branch being twisted and detached. It was horrible to hear. Hotch cringed in sympathy. Reid slowly moved his left leg back and forth, side to side, working the joint cautiously until it stopped making sounds.

“What are you doing, sleeping in my office?” Hotch asked.

“You said….” Reid hadn’t finished the sentence before Hotch interrupted.

“I meant….” Hotch barked, his angry returning full force when he reminded himself of why he was here – to reprimand Reid for lying.

“How was I supposed to know what you meant?” Spencer snapped. “I’m not psychic. You said wait. I waited. I suppose you’re going to be angry at me for that too.”

“Reid, I am angry at you because you lied to me!” Hotch roared. 

“Don’t you ever lie to me again!”

There was a long pause. Hotch was worried he had gone too far, yelled too loud, been too abrupt. It was always a guessing game with Reid. His face could be indiscernible at times. Hotch knew what Reid was doing. He knew for a fact Reid was calculating what his next appropriate countermove should be. Should he react with anger, raise the stakes, drive Hotch’s temper further into the stratosphere? Or should be take a breath, concede he was at fault, and bow himself to whatever punishment Hotch demanded of him?

“Fine,” Reid peeped in a rising voice. “Is that all you have to say? I’ll see you Monday.”

Clearly Spencer had chosen to concede and run. Hotch could not have been more disappointed. Reid brushed forward past Hotch and hobbled towards the office door. In spite of his own pain, Hotch hurried forward. He had no trouble reaching the portal first, and he slammed it hard, grabbing Reid by his hands on the crossbeams of the crutches, stopping him in his tracks. He got right in Reid’s face and shouted at him again.

“No! That isn’t all. I’m not done with you!” Hotch intoned deeply.

“Fine,” Reid frowned.

“You leave when I tell you you can go!” Hotch shouted.

When the hateful words echoed back to Aaron, it wasn’t his own voice that he heard, but his father’s voice, and he felt deeply ashamed. Aaron wasn’t sure why he had yelled that way, or what kind of reaction he hoped to receive. But he imagined himself standing before his own father, as he had done so many times, watching his father’s face burning red, watching his neck and forehead veins throbbing with anger.

How many times had he stood before his father, steeling himself not to flinch whether the next thing coming at him was another howl of anger or even a fist? Aaron would always respond with anger when faced with anger.

Reid wasn’t the sort to explode when confronted though. He didn’t have the physical presence to back up the threat. It took a lot to make Reid lose his temper, because that delay fuse gave him time to collect his thoughts and plan the safest course of action to avoid getting hurt. Hotch envied Reid that icy comportment. When Reid finally did reply, he was stiff with ice and hate.

“You want to reprimand me? Fine. You want to punish me? Fine. You want to put a page in my official file? Fine. Write it up. I’ll sign it. I’ll agree to whatever punishment you ask. At this point, I don’t care. I’m sorry I’m so dedicated to my job. I wonder where I learned that sort of devotion? Maybe from working with you all these years?”

“Reid, this is not about me,” Hotch growled.

“Hotch, the first thing I thought about when I got shot is that I had once again compromised the team. The last thing we needs is to be two men down, not when we’ve got George Foyet on the loose out there, and he’s hunting the two people you love the most. I knew I had to pull myself together, and get back to work as fast as possible, even if that meant disobeying the doctor’s orders. I wasn’t going to mope around feeling sorry for myself, and expecting you to baby me because I’m hurt. I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me around. I can take care of myself. Yes, I lied to you. Yes, I came back to work too early. Yes, I signed that form permitting myself to travel, because I knew how much you needed me, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint you. But, Hotch, I lied to you because I don’t want to let you down again. I let you down too often. I hate disappointing you.”

Somewhere in the middle of all those words, Reid’s tone moved from icy hated to tender and solicitous. It was a gradual and easy shift Hotch didn’t feel until Reid had stopped speaking.

Hotch stared at Reid, at a loss for words, his emotions roiling around in his chest and down in his stomach too. He was perfectly aware that his mouth was hanging open, and that Reid was waiting for him to respond. While Aaron was staring at Reid’s face though, he saw it – that little mischievous glimmer which flickered through his eyes. Reid’s face was perfectly impassable, but those eyes gleamed with anticipation and the thrill of the game. Reid was waiting for Hotch to make his next move.

“Can I go now?” Reid pleaded softly, looking away. “I‘m going to miss the last train.”

Hotch released Reid’s hands, stroking a thumb across the top of Spencer’s smooth skin, touching veins and knuckles on his way. His chest clenched again, not in physical pain but in emotional pain, when he realized what Reid was doing.

Reid enjoyed the fiery exchange with Hotch, but Reid was also giving Hotch what he wanted most, what he needed most – an outlet for his bottled-up misery and pain. Aaron couldn’t hold all his anger inside forever, no matter how hard he might try. Reid had pulled Hotch’s anger to the surface, had drawn away the upper- most spite filling Aaron’s veins, allowing him a few more hours, a few more days maybe, in which he could continue to cope. Reid had allowed Hotch to vent. Reid had read Hotch like a pro, and he had played him like one too. There weren’t too many people who would willingly stand toe-to-toe and have a shouting match with Aaron Hotchner. But here was Dr. Reid, meek, scrawny, defenseless, like St. George against the dragon.

“I’ll drive you home,” Hotch murmured, his voice dropping, his face flushing, his heart thumping.

“No, you won’t. You are not supposed to be driving,” Reid said, shaking his head at Hotch.

“What?” Hotch snickered, suddenly defensively and shocked.

“Aaron Hotchner, I read your medical file. It was on your desk. The Bureau doctor cleared you for field work, but you’re not supposed to drive for another six weeks….”

“You read my medical file?” Hotch gasped.

“….because repairing your internal injuries required that your ribs be cracked open and wired back together. Hence the reason you are not supposed to be lifting anything heavier than yourself. So, no, you stubborn jackass, you aren’t going to drive me home, because you’re not supposed to be driving anywhere.”

“You snooped on my desk?”

“Your office was a mess. The inbox was overflowing. I couldn’t stand the clutter. I picked up the files to straighten them, but I dropped them. It took me forever to collect all the pages. I had to read the pages to know which file they belonged in. Your medical report happened to be mixed in among the case files that I dropped. Yes, I read every last page of your medical file, every word on every page,” Reid replied, a hint of pert amusement tugging one side of his mouth up.

“That was private.”

“Was private,” Reid smirked.

“What you read in there, it does not go beyond this office,” Hotch insisted firmly.

“As you wish,” Reid agreed.

“I’m ordering you to keep your mouth shut. I have to drive, Reid. I can’t very well sit around waiting for a cab, not when there’s a case on the front burner, and a case on the back burner, and Foyet hovering around out there,” Hotch whispered feverishly.

“I’m not making judgments,” Reid promised, adopting the same desperate tone that Hotch heard in his own voice. “But you’re not cleared to drive, and I’m not cleared to fly, so what I’m saying is…”

“It’s hypocritical of me to chastise you when I’m disregarding doctor’s orders too?” Hotch frowned.

“Noooo. What I’m saying is that you of all people surely must understand why I disobeyed the doctor’s orders.”

“I’m not angry at you for disobeying your doctor, Reid. I’m angry at you for lying to me,” Hotch muttered, raising one hand and pointing a finger an inch from Reid’s small, button nose. “Listen to me. When there’s a problem or an issue, you come to me, and you talk to me. Whatever it is. I don’t care. You come to me, and you tell me the truth. We will work it out. We will solve the problem together. But I want the whole truth. Every bit of the truth. Is that clear? There will be no lying. I will not brook dishonesty from my team. Especially from you.”

Reid watched the fingertip as it moved back and forth, It stopped moving, touching him tenderly on the very edge of his nose.

“Why especially me?” Spencer wondered. Hotch withdrew the pointing finger, and gave an annoyed chuckle. Wasn’t the answer perfectly obvious?

“Especially you, because words are your greatest weapon. Your life depends on your ability to persuade, your ability to manipulate. You can’t physically intimidate suspects the way Morgan can. You can’t rely on the respect granted to old age, the way Rossi does. You can’t flash cleavage as a distraction, or bat your lashes to get your way.”

“In certain situations, I can,” Reid corrected. Hotch’s gaze traveled to Spencer’s hazel- amber eyes and stayed there too long. Indeed he could. Reid was looking over at Hotch through those long, feathery lashes, and Hotch felt his heart pounding anew, pounding in a fashion not unlike attraction. Hotch cleared his throat and struggled to gain control of himself, and control of Reid too. Because if Reid was able to see right through Hotch’s anger to find Hotch’s need to vent underneath that anger, then there was no doubt in Hotch’s mind that Reid was also going to see what other needs were hiding down deep inside him.

“Reid, you’re a trickster. You’re a charlatan. You’re practically a Parseltongue. I won’t have you using that sorcery against me,” Hotch warned.

“Because it makes you feel stupid when I trick you?” Reid asked, a flash of a smile working up his mouth up on one side.

“Yes,” Hotch admitted.

“That in turn makes you even more angry at me, because you hate to feel stupid?” Reid pressed, wheedled, whispered. He moved closer, eyes half- lidded.

“Spencer, don’t press your luck,” Hotch warned. 

Reid’s eyes darted down at Hotch’s arms, crossed over his chest.

“It’s 8:45,” Reid said. 

“What?”

“Thanks to you, I’ve missed the last train back to the city,” Reid chided, tapping Hotch’s watch.

“Sorry,” Aaron sighed.

“Hotch, if I keep your secret, and let you drive, will you let me fly?”

“No,” Aaron responded, brows dipping. “This is not about you letting me do anything. I am your boss, Dr. Reid. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then we should go call two cabs, unless you fancy sleeping on that sofa tonight,” Reid pointed his chin towards the far wall.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you home.”

“No, I won’t let you.” 

“Reid….”

“Hotch, if I shouldn’t fly against doctor’s orders, you should not drive against doctor’s orders.”

“It’s different for me.” 

“How is it different?” 

“It’s totally different.” 

“Why?”

“Because I’m different from you.”

“Oh,” Reid seized on the word, eyes lighting up with…. Well, it wasn’t delight. Quite probably, it was anger. It was also amusement though. “Because you’re a tougher man than I am? Because I’m a long-haired, limp-wristed Nancy boy who can’t deal with the pain?”

“That is not what I said,” Hotch defended softly. But it was exactly what he was thinking, and Reid knew it.

“You and the horse you rode in on, Hotchner,” Reid drawled with a sly smirk. Hotch blushed.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I am your boss. I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Hotch warned.

“No, sir, you don’t have to justify a damned thing.”

“That right. I don’t.”

“If you want to be a hypocrite, you’re perfectly within your rights to do so,” Reid taunted.

“Shut up,” Hotch whispered back, adopting the playful tone as well. “I am not a hypocrite.”

Hotch couldn’t help when his eyes dropped down to Reid’s lush, full mouth again. He was a hypocrite. He was. He wanted nothing more at the moment that to grab Reid in a tight grip and taste that lush mouth for himself. Reid held silent for the briefest pause before continuing.

“It might interest you to know I put a copy of your medical file on Rossi’s desk.” Spencer raised the stakes without raising his voice.

“You what?” Hotch growled. He wasn’t sure Reid wasn’t joking.

“I know you share all pertinent file with the senior team staff, that being Morgan and Rossi.”

“You gave a copy of my medical file to Rossi and to Morgan!?” Hotch gasped.

“JJ was away working the case with you, and her office work was piling up. I was only helping her out. Media liaisons are support staff personnel, and as our support staff person, her tasks include giving copies of case files to senior team staff and to Strauss.”

“You gave copies of my medical file to Strauss? Reeeeeid,” Hotch breathed, appalled.

“She came storming in, and I was here waiting for you, so she ordered me to make her a copy of all the files on your desk. The Xerox machine was malfunctioning again, so I’m not sure I gave her every page of the medical file. I might have missed a page or two. I didn’t check to make sure. She wanted the files on the spot, stood there while I copied everything, snatched them from my hands and stormed away.”

Now Reid was toying with Aaron, like a cat with its claws drawn, snagging your skin with only the very tip of its weapons, in order to get your attention but not to hurt you. Hotch’s skin was tingling with dread and a little extra something.

“It would be easy to get the files back,” Spencer offered. “I would do that for you if you asked. It wouldn’t be hard.”

“Reid, what are you driving at?”

“I understand that you don’t want anyone to know about your condition. I’ll go get the files for you. Has Rossi left for the day?”

“Yes.”

“Did he take his files with him?”

“No. He actually made of point of telling me to leave my files at work, and to go home and enjoy the weekend.”

“Morgan never takes files home for the weekend. So if you’re lucky, Strauss didn’t get all the pages, Rossi hasn’t glanced at the pages, and Morgan won’t look at them until Monday. No one will know your secret. I’ll go collect the files for you. No one will know you are under just as many medical restrictions as I am, if not more. Then I’ll be the only one who knows what a hypocrite you are. Your secret will be safe with me, if you let me fly.”

“This is blackmail,” Hotch frowned.

“I prefer to think of it as a gentleman’s agreement.”

“I don’t have to bargain with you, Reid. I’m your superior.”

“You’re my supervisor. Yes, sir. Yes, you are. My dishonest, hypocritical supervisor,” Reid snickered.

“You’ll keep quiet if I let you fly?”

“That’s how this sort of bargain usually works,” Reid was smiling now. He could taste victory.

Hotch moved forward, taking Reid by both shoulders, getting close enough to talk without being overheard.

“Dr. Spencer Reid, you will not fly until you are cleared by a medical doctor,” Hotch responded in sotto voce, worried that the cleaning staff now milling around the deserted BAU offices would overhear him if he let loose the full force of the fire burning in his chest. He closed his fists tightly around the ends of Reid’s thin shoulders, feeling muscles and bone tense under his grip.

Reid’s head moved back, but his body stayed put.

“Fine,” Reid sulked. “Leave the files where they are. Let them all know what you’re really like under that knight-in-shining-armor exterior. I am so ashamed of your hypocrisy, I can’t even look at you,” Reid teased out the words in a wicked whisper, glancing to the side wall, biting back another smile. Spencer was joking around again. His eyes came back, testing, wondering. Hotch snorted quietly, and Reid gave a tiny snicker. It was impossible to miss the excitement burning in his eyes. Spencer enjoyed this exchange as much as Aaron did.

“Enough, Reid. Quit playing around. I’m serious about the lying. You are never ever again going to bald-face lie to me, forge medical documents, or otherwise attempt to swindle me when it comes to life- threatening matters, such as your medical condition. The End. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer deflated, unhappy that Hotch was hiding behind their professional roles once more.

“You will also keep your eyes out of my medical file, and your nose out of my personal business. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will drive if I want to drive. I won’t have you telling me what to do.”

“Fine,” Reid pouted. “Knock yourself out, Hotch. Drive yourself home. Hell, spend the whole weekend driving around. See if I fucking care if you get rear-ended, and your ribcage splits open, and your lungs pop out, and your heart stops beating. See. If. I. Care,” Spencer whispered, poking Hotch in the toes with one of his crutches.

Reid shifted his shoulders, and Hotch let go of him. Spencer ambled away. He opened the office door and headed towards the elevators. Hotch debated following him, explaining himself further, making it clear to Reid that this was not hypocrisy. The accusation burned him. It wasn’t true! Well, no, it was true in this situation. But the chance to follow and explain himself was lost, because Hotch stood debating for too long. The elevator arrived, and Reid was suddenly gone for the weekend.

Aaron sighed with longing, and gave up the internal fight. He gathered up his briefcase and raced towards Rossi’s office.

The door was unlocked because the cleaning crew was inside. Hotch nodded to the lady dusting the books and emptying the trash can. She nodded to him and went about her work. He stood at Rossi’s desk and studied the tabs on the files in the inbox. Feeling dirty somehow, like it wasn’t his right to be here, pulling back his own files which Reid had had no right to distribute, Hotch lifted out the manila cover marked ‘Hotchner, Aaron’. He opened the folder and glanced inside, breathing a sigh of relief. He pocketed the folder in his briefcase, and left Rossi’s domain.

Hotch stopped next at Morgan’s desk, and he could feel the eyes on him. He glanced back over his shoulder. The cleaning woman in Rossi’s office watched Aaron as he picked through the files on Morgan’s desk too, lifting out the one he needed. The cleaning lady looked askance at Hotch as he pocketed the second folder in his briefcase.

Hotch strode towards the elevators and pushed the down button, waiting. He rocked side to side once, twisting his neck, rotating his head to loosen his tired, tense muscles. He glanced down at his jacket as he stepped into the elevator car.

There were two long strands of sandy hair on his person. He almost meeped with excitement.

Contact transfer, his brain supplied.

Hotch put his briefcase on the floor and collected the hairs carefully, wrapping them around his left index finger. He studied the color and the texture, rubbing them with the flat of his thumb. One was darker than the other – almost cinnamon red in color, like Dr. Pepper in a glass with sunlight pouring through. The other hair was honey-brown at the bottom, almost sun-bleached, while remaining sandy at the top.

Aaron put his hand in his pocket and tucked the hairs into the corner, smiling faintly to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

‘I’m so ashamed…. I can’t even look at you.’

Reid had said the words in a playful tone, and Hotch had taken them as the gentle jab that they were, but later that night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, Spencer was second-guessing those words, wishing now that he had not been so familiar, that he had not pointed out the duality in Hotch’s stance.

From an objective point of view, Reid agreed with Hotch’s decision. Actually, it was a very different thing for Hotch to decide he must continue to drive against doctor’s orders, even though he expected Reid to not fly against doctor’s orders. Spencer understood why Hotch was making this decision, even if it was hypocritical. He agreed with the edict, and he would obey without question.

But Reid regretted having said the words, even in jest, because they were flagrantly untrue, and Hotch knew it too. Reid was anything but ashamed of Aaron. Hotch had the strongest sense of moral character of any person Reid knew. Reid admired him for it, worshipped him even. Whenever Spencer was in doubt about himself and his decisions, he would invariably wonder how Hotch would handle it, and he would follow his boss’s lead. Knowing that the words were wholly untrue was undoubtedly why Hotch had not taken offense at them.

‘I can’t even look at you,’ Reid thought to himself, smiling.

Another untrue declaration. There were days when Reid found himself doing nothing but looking at Hotch. There was always something new to see, a new facet to explore, a new quality to admire. Reid could only compare it to seeing the same painting in the museum every time you visited – yes, it’s the same painting, but every time you gaze at it, you notice another quality that you like about it. The delicate brushstrokes, the bold use of color, the way the sunlight at different times of day hits a certain corner of the canvas, and the darkness becomes light. Sometimes all you can do is stand and stare at the painting, because the mastery of the artist overwhelms you. That’s what it was like – watching Aaron Hotchner.

Spencer rested his head back against his pillow and kicked off his blankets using his right leg. It was hot, too hot, but he didn’t want to get out of bed and turn on the AC. He was finally comfortable, totally relaxed. His left leg wasn’t throbbing.

Spencer put his left arm over his head, sliding his right hand over his chest, teasing against his collarbone where Hotch had been leaning on him, breathing against his skin, nose buried tight against him. Spencer licked his lips, closing his eyes, his chest trembling slightly as he pulled the details to mind.

Aaron had actually been in his arms, if only briefly. Hotch had been tactical, familiar, close.

Had Reid really put a hand into Hotch’s hair? He had, hadn’t he? It had been spiky, rough, and bristly. It had smelled of hair gel and traces of cologne. Like shaving cream too. Reid immediately deduced the reason why. The first thing Hotch did in the morning was shave, and with the hint of shaving cream remaining on his hands, he would fill his fingers with hair gel, and then he would run his fingers through his short mane, the process of which left traces of both products in his hair. When he put on his cologne, he would pat against his throat and his jaw and cheeks, thus putting the scent close enough that the lingering traces would work up into his hair during the day. Reid lingered over the memory of putting his fingers through the quill-like strands, and couldn’t help but wonder how those sharp edges might feel against his naked skin.

The thought of naked skin of course led Spencer to imagine Hotch divested of that ever-present suit and tie and wingtips and frown. Naked Hotch, covered with rich, dark hair—curls of it, mounds of it, patches and pelts of it. Reid caressed under his own shirt, moaning softly, his brain creating from other sexual experiences how Hotch’s bare skin would feel, how it would feel to have Aaron’s solid, strong body above his own, that bossy, barky mouth on his mouth, that tongue on his tongue, rubbing their bodies together as they moved. Reid wanted to wrap his legs around Hotch, open himself body and soul to Hotch. He wanted those rough hands everywhere.

Those hands.

Spencer lifted his hips and pushed down his boxers, ignoring his left leg as it began to thump with annoyance. His ice pack slid onto the bed, and down onto the floor. Reid ignored it too, long fingers running down his abdomen, down between his legs, around his rising erection. He thumbed the head of his cock and slowly pumped himself, and thought about Hotch’s mouth, firm, thin, tight with control. He thought about Hotch’s hands roaming slowly over his skin, caressing, teasing. He thought about those hands holding his shoulders in that firm grasp as he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

What would it be like to kiss Aaron Hotchner? Would he be forceful and direct? Grab, pucker, press, release? Leave no question about his intentions? Or would he be gentle? That kind of kisser who sidled up to you, and dotted a peck on you, and was gone again before you could object? Spencer much preferred a direct kisser. Maybe he had watched too many old movies, seen too many black and white flicks with actors like Humphrey Bogart, or Rock Hudson, or Gregory Peck. Those movies when a man kissed his love interest like he actually meant it – with all his pure passion on display for the duration of that celluloid pucker. Words were unnecessary when you could say it all with one kiss. Spencer seized on that thought and held it, memories and images dancing and melding in his head as he stroked himself.  
Spencer could easily picture Hotch in one of those 1940’s shady detective movies, dark suit framing those broad shoulders, his hat cocked slightly to the side, the hint of shadow on his strong jaw as the camera panned over his profile. Aaron Hotchner, hard-boiled detective, chasing down the bad guys, and rescuing the dame in distress.

Oh. Would that make Reid the dame? He snickered to himself at the thought and shook it away. No. He had no desire to be a woman, not even for Aaron Hotchner.  
These fantasies about Hotch had consumed Reid for several years. They were always present in his mind, but he never acted upon them. He always tamped them back down so he could work with the man and not embarrass them both, not cross the boundary between decent behavior and his most-feverish dreams. For so many years, Hotch had been untouchable. His marriage vows had meant as much to Reid as they did to Hotch, and that had been the beginning and the ending of it. Fidelity to your spouse was a line that Reid would not cross no matter how attracted he was to any person.

But since Hotch and Haley had gotten divorced, Reid had foolishly allowed himself to once again look at Aaron and consider the possibility. Not that anything could ever happen between them even if Hotch was single. It couldn’t. It wouldn’t. Hotch was straight, or mostly straight, or at least he presented himself that way, usually.  
No, in all honesty, there were times when Reid had wondered about the sexuality of his tightly-wound boss (like when Hotch would stare at Reid’s mouth and unconsciously lick his own lips) but there were boundaries one did not cross unless they were invited to do so, and as far as he could tell, Reid had never been invited to cross the line with Hotch. Reid came close to the boundaries, at times too close, but always pulled back for fear of revealing his desires.

This reluctance to show his hand in public had never stopped Spencer from having fantasies about Hotch in private though. There were stretches of time when he lived on those daydreams. All manner of daydreams. Spencer had many favorite scenarios that he pulled to mind, almost all of which involved Hotch defending him, which embarrassed him, truly, it embarrassed him to have such a pedestrian and silly longing to be protected, but there it was.

Hotch in the role of rescuer – that was how Reid loved him best. Strong. Protective. Loving. Perhaps it was because Hotch took on that role in real life too.  
Maybe it was on a case when Reid might find himself in danger? It wasn’t implausible. God knows, it happened often enough. Overwhelmed by forces beyond his control, held against his will, held at gunpoint, held at knifepoint, held. 

That turn of phrase conjured dark memories in Reid, but he was not afraid to venture into that territory and face the monsters that lurked there, as long as he was then free to picture Hotch in these dark places, storming in to stand by his side and help him find a way out. What kind of danger was Reid in? That didn’t matter as much as the fact that Hotch would be there to pick him up and dust him off and make everything better again. They worked well together – that was evident even in the real world. They worked well together, because Hotch made Reid have more confidence in himself than he ever had when he was alone.

The threat of being in danger never failed to make Spencer’s pulse rush. He lived for being scared, because it made him feel alive.

Overwhelmed and out of tricks, Reid would fear the game was over. But then a door would bang open, and Aaron would storm in, guns blazing, lights burning! When the blindfold was pulled away, Reid wouldn’t stare at anything but the familiar face above him. Hotch would untie Reid’s hands, drawing off his own jacket to cover Reid as he pulled him up off the unfamiliar bed or up from a dark corner, holding him close, making him feel safe.

Then when Spencer had collected his wits, Reid and Hotch would find a way to close the case, and to defeat the dangerous unsub, and all would be well again.  
It was that feeling of safety that Reid longed for most – Hotch’s arms around him. A fleeting remembrance fluttered into his mind – Aaron’s arms around him, Aaron asking ‘Reid, are you okay?’ That feeling that the person protecting you would never let you down. Too many people had let Reid down. Too many people had walked away. Too many people couldn’t be trusted. Too many people had betrayed him. Aaron wouldn’t let him down though. Hotch would never let him down.

For a flash of a instant, it wasn’t Hotch holding Reid, rubbing his back, telling him he was safe. It was his father William. Reid knew it was an actual memory, not an imagined moment but a real one. He must have been so small when that moment had happened, small enough to be held on one shoulder and carried around. Spencer had known that for that brief span of time, the man holding him had really and truly had loved him, which made the rest of the roiling emotions about his father so terrible and bittersweet. If once upon a time, his father had cared about him, when had William stopped loving Spencer, and why? 

Spencer pushed the memory away and drew Hotch back into place, picturing Aaron’s arms around him, imagining that solid body above him, on top of him, inside him. Oh. Inside him. Yes. The hurt over his father’s emotional withdrawal and his departure dissolved away as Reid conjured Hotch in all his glory. 

Maybe they were back in Hotch’s office, during that playful argument tonight, but instead of Reid hobbling away, running as fast as his crutches would allow, maybe instead of running away, Hotch seized Reid in both arms, and pressed their mouths together there. Would Hotch ever give in to the desire that sparked between them?  
Instead of running away, maybe Reid dropped those crutches in favor of putting both arms up around Hotch’s broad shoulders (like hugging a damned oak tree).  
Hotch’s mouth would move from Reid’s mouth to his neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks on pale, smooth skin as his hands, those fingers, loosened Reid’s tie and began snapping open buttons left and right. He moved quickly but smoothly while undressing Reid.

Divan or desk? Divan or desk? Desk!

Hotch would drag Reid, pull him, carry him if necessary, pushing the heavy, wooden inbox off onto the floor, pulling open Reid’s trousers and pushing them down to his thighs, to his ankles, before splaying Reid on the desktop and smothering him physically. It was strange that Reid didn’t mind feeling powerless against Hotch, because if there was one person that Spencer trusted himself to completely, it was Aaron Hotchner.

If this sexual encounter were real life, this would be the moment to pause and think about proper protection. It was the responsible thing to do, and one should always be responsible in real life. But being as this was a sexual fantasy, and not really happening, who wanted to linger on the awkward pause during which a man with an erection had to fumble about, opening a condom wrapper? Being embarrassed or watching someone being embarrassed was not a turn-on for Spencer.

Reid shook away his absurd tangent and returned his mind to being under Hotch, sprawled out on his desk at work. Maybe instead of being gouged in the back by the desk blotter, and knocking over the pencil cup, and feeling the stapler under his right shoulder, Reid preferred being face down over Hotch’s desk, fingers curled over the edge. Hotch’s nose would be poking him in the neck. Aaron would be panting Reid’s name as he slid deep inside him, so far inside that Reid couldn’t breath without seeing stars. His knees would both be complaining, but only for a short while, only a few minutes, and it was well worth the pain.

Hotch and Reid would move together, like they had done this a million times, shaking the desk, knocking over files, jarring the contents in all the drawers. Hotch would be pounding his hips against the backs of Reid’s thighs, grunting with each delicious thrust. Spencer could almost feel it now, being balanced precariously against the wooden surface, Hotch’s fingers digging into his thin hips, holding him and pulling him and pushing him and guiding him, rough kisses on his neck, teeth digging into his skin, the trickle of sweat, the drip, drip, drip of pre-cum drizzling down his body, and finally, Hotch’s shout of glee when he made Reid splatter his pleasure across the front of the desk. Reid would sag against the surface, not caring about the mess, as Hotch drove harder, harder, following him into nirvana, gushing wet, hot heat inside him and down between his legs.

This office fantasy always ended the same way. As they lay panting on the desktop, there would be a knock on the door, and a voice.

‘Hotch, are you there? We have a case.’

Sometimes it was JJ. Sometimes Prentiss. Sometimes Rossi. They stayed beyond the portal, and would not interrupt.

But if it was Morgan, he would stride right inside, and watch with curious eyes as Hotch pulled Reid off the desk and into his arms, drowning Spencer in more kisses, grasping and groping him possessively. Sometimes Morgan would laugh and leave. Other times, Morgan would get angry and storm over to separate them. Still other times, Morgan would join them, and together he and Hotch would use Reid, exhaust him, abuse him. But that was a whole different fantasy for another time.

Spencer pushed the imagined knock and the phantom voice away, and thought of Hotch, only of Hotch, about lying in Aaron’s arms, being held, being protected, being cherished. Cherish – to hold dear, to keep and protect, from Middle English, from French, cher – dear and precious.

Simple longing filled Spencer’s heart, and he wondered if he was ever going to feel that kind of love ever again in his life. He had been cherished briefly, once or twice, but in the end, everyone always left him. He calmed his rasping breathing, feeling regret like a silver splinter in his heart. No matter how satisfying the fantasy was, masturbation never failed to leave him feeling more lonely than before. He staved off the empty feelings by thinking about all the things he needed to do: get up and get a wash cloth, go pee, clean up, get fresh linens for the bed, get a fresh ice pack for his left knee, which was once more throbbing angrily at him. Turn on the AC before he died from the heat. 

His wishful dreams slowly dissolved, leaving him feeling bereft and foolish, as they always did.

Reid’s cell phone came to life like an alarm, vibrating with enough strength that it tumbled off the bedside table and landed on the floor. Annoyed, he thought about ignoring it, but that wasn’t possible. His job had him too well trained. He was programmed to answer at all times when his phone rang, because lives depended on him answering his phone. 

Resistance was pointless.

Reid sighed, carefully picked up the phone with his sticky hand, placing the cell on his chest to answer it by speaker. He cleaned his hand with a tissue from the box beside the lamp.

“Hello?” Spencer murmured.

“Reid?!” It was Aaron, sounding upset and desperate.

“Hotch? Are you okay?” Reid asked, sitting up, picking up the phone, tucking it against his shoulder and ear.

“I knew you’d be awake. Can we talk?”

“Where are you?” Reid worried. “Are you okay?”

“I need to talk to someone.” 

“Where are you?” Reid pressed. 

“Downstairs.”

“I’ll be right there,” Spencer said.

“Don’t hang up,” Hotch pleaded.

“But I need to pee,” Reid cringed, hoping that admission would allow him to disconnect the call.

“Go ahead,” Hotch said. He was perfecting willing to endure that kind of crass familiarity, it seemed. There was a frantic edge to Aaron’s voice that Reid had never heard, ever, not in all the years he had known the man. Something was definitely wrong.

“Keep talking. I’m listening,” Reid promised.

Spencer turned on the water in the sink, shimmied out of his damp boxers, hoping the sound of the running water would mask the sound of him taking a leak, which was in itself a strange and curious phrase that he might someday discuss with a linguist friend of his at Georgetown, but not something he was going to explore at this particular juncture in time.

“I was home. I was awake. I started going through boxes,” Hotch rambled as Reid flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and took a moment to rub rose- scented hand lotion onto his dry fingers. He also washed his chest and his smeared thighs.

As Spencer hobbled through the house, he pulled on a clean pair of boxers, shed his rumpled shirt, pulled on a clean tee, lifted a pair of khakis out of the closet and paused, sitting down on the end of the bed to get his left leg in, carefully, oh so carefully, as not to annoy his grumbling knee.

“Go on,” Reid urged Hotch. 

“Foyet was in my stuff.”

“What?” Reid zipped up his khakis and slowly stood up again.

“Foyet. He was in my things. He went through my boxes.”

“Are you sure?” Reid whispered. He grabbed his crutches, and headed for the front door. He paused only long enough to slip into loafers, to turn on the AC, and to snatch up his satchel off the floor by the tall table by the door. He was soon thumping, scooting, thumping, scooting his way to the stairs.

As he was going down the stairs, Reid heard Hotch’s voice getting louder and louder.

“I’m sure. He went through my papers. He went through my business. He went through my case files. That son of a bitch. He knows everything. He knows  
everything,” Hotch fretted. 

Aaron came storming around the landing and knocked Reid flat on his butt. It was exactly like running into a moving tree. There was no give whatsoever. Hotch dropped his phone and dodged falling crutches, kneeling down in front of Spencer, who was gasping, lying back on the stairs, blinking in surprise.

“ ‘M sorry,” Hotch bleated, his hands resting on Reid’s waist.

“ ‘S alright,” Reid lied, pushing the hands away.

“Can we talk? Can we go somewhere? Can we go driving? Can we…” Hotch pleaded. They both hunted the floor for their phones and put them away.

Reid used Hotch’s body as a tower, pulling himself up. He patted Hotch’s arm as he replied, “We can go anywhere you want to go.”

Hotch yanked up Reid’s crutches and stuck them under his arms for him.

“You go first. I’ll be right behind you,” Reid promised. Hotch bounced away, back again, bounced off once more. Reid crossed the landing carefully, and Hotch came back up the steps, walking back and forth as he rambled some more.

“I’ve got the box downstairs. We can do this at Quantico.”

“I’m right behind you,” Reid reassured Hotch.


	3. Chapter 3

Reid was holed-up at Quantico in an all-white room with a big wooden table, two plastic chairs, and no windows, unless you counted the one-way mirror which dominated the far right wall. His crutches were propped up beside him. It was freezing cold in the interrogation room. Reid was wearing blue rubber gloves, and he was poring over the box of information that Hotch had given to him. 

Hotch was not in the room, but Reid knew he was nearby, more than likely behind the mirror, he decided to himself.

The first time Hotch came into the stark room, and interrupted Reid’s train of thought, he brought Reid a sweater. Reid had been shivering, so he was grateful for the gesture. Aaron had schlepped and crept around the BAU floor, the bullpen, and the locker rooms until he found where Reid had squirreled away a backup sweater in the back of the coat closet down the hall. Hotch wondered if Reid had forgotten it was even there. Spencer was comfortable now, burrowed inside his snuggly, dark blue sweater with wooden buttons. It was slightly tattered around the edges, but it was big and warm. He tugged at the sleeve cuffs with the ends of his fingers, nervously stimming as he studied the pages.

The second time Hotch came into the room, he brought Reid a strong, sweet coffee in a take-out cup and a cream cheese and cherry Danish, both from his favorite coffee shop located in the town proper, near to the Marine base and FBI training facility. Due to the absence of windows and natural light, it was impossible to judge the hour of the day, but Spencer knew by now that the sun must be up. Saturday morning had officially begun. Reid didn’t look up from the papers he was concentrating on, and Hotch did not say anything to disturb him. Aaron crept back out of the room and closed the door. By the time Hotch was back in the room behind the one-way mirror, Reid was shamelessly wolfing down the danish and slurping noisily on the coffee.

The third time Hotch came into the room, he had been summoned. Reid got up from the table, limped across, and tapped on the mirror directly in front of where Hotch was standing. Dead center. He might as well have tapped him on the shoulder. Aaron had shivered with amazement, and hurried to see what Spencer wanted.  
Hotch’s eyes first fell on the stacks that Reid had created out of the papers that had been in the box. Reid had chosen three folders to discuss, and had placed them individually side by side, while leaving the rest of the folders in a neat and tidy pile next to the empty cardboard container. Aaron’s heart leapt into his throat, and he stopped where he was. 

Reid looked up from the table, and took a moment to drain the last drop of coffee out of his cup. It was early afternoon by this point. Hotch’s stubble was itching him. He ran short nails over the curve of his jaw and under his chin. For only a second, Spencer chewed on the edge of his coffee cup, and pictured Hotch in a dark gray fedora, but only for a second, because this situation was serious, and no place for his daydreams.

Reid put the coffee cup down and away, and pointed to the second plastic chair at the table. He took off the blue rubber gloves and put them inside out beside the box. Hotch sidled up to the table as if he were expecting to be bawled out. He sat down in the chair most carefully. Hotch glanced down at the three folders, and up at Reid, and waited. When it was clear that Hotch wasn’t going to speak first, Reid began.

“Foyet went through every folder in there, but he paid extraordinary attention to these three. Nearly every page was ruffled, turned around, nicked, folded at the edges. I know this is not a condition in which you would leave your personal information,” Reid said, carefully choosing his words.

Hotch nodded silently and waited for Reid to continue.

“These files are from your study?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” Hotch replied. “I stacked them in boxes when Haley asked me to move out. I haven’t taken the time to put them away properly in my apartment.”

“One contains the intimate details of your divorce settlement with Haley. One contains your FBI commendations. These certificates are meant to be framed and shown, not stuffed in a drawer,” Reid scolded tenderly.

“I didn’t want to look like I was bragging,” Hotch said, bowing his head.

“It would not be unseemly to display your accomplishments, Hotch. You have every right to be proud of yourself.”

Hotch shrugged at the compliment, and Reid understood that years and years of verbal abuse from both of his parents (and undoubtedly from Haley as well when their marriage began to fall apart) had left Aaron doubting the authenticity of any kind words of praise. Spencer did not want to seem disingenuous, so he did not continue to the tact, but it made his heart hurt for Hotch, that the man could not accept an honest compliment without ghosts of self-doubt raising up in his mind.

“Last but not least, the third folder contains your early college records,” Reid said.

Hotch nodded.

“You were awake, couldn’t sleep, and you were going through these boxes in search of comfort, perhaps? Happy times? Reminiscing about the old days? You noticed the contents were in disarray, thought perhaps you had packed them in too much of a hurry. At first you thought, maybe when you packed them you were too angry. You threw them in the box, and did not notice how you might have jostled the contents. It made you doubt yourself. Maybe you started out by straightening the contents of the folders on top of this one, but when you reached this folder and saw the condition it was in, you stopped, and you called me,” Reid decided.

Hotch nodded again. Reid was correct so far. Spencer put the divorce folder on top of the larger pile. Aaron was relieved that he made no mention of what he had read, made no comment, had nothing to say about what had been a humiliating experience, and not one Hotch would soon forget or forgive. But for as much as Hotch was angry with Haley, there was no doubt in Reid’s mind that Aaron would love his wife, now ex-wife, until the day he died. Even if Haley had fallen out of love with Aaron, Aaron had not lost his feelings for her. Reid considered that Hotch’s personal business, and he did not pry, nor did he want to reveal that that too made him feel sorry for Aaron.

Spencer picked up the commendation file, opened it, and leafed through.

“Professional interest,” he said.

“So it would seem,” Hotch intoned grimly.

“He took trophies.”

“He did,” Hotch whispered.

“Two commendations. The pages are turned back and forth at these two points. What were the missing ones?” Reid asked.

“Both for marksmanship.”

“He was searching for a better understanding of your technical skills,” Reid decided, putting the commendations on the larger pile.

This left one folder sitting between them. Reid could almost see the hair on Hotch’s neck stand up. Spencer moved the manila cover front and center, bit his lip, and debated what to say. Aaron stared back, plainly worried. Reid caressed the front of the folder, clearing his throat.

“Early college records,” Reid said.

“Yes,” Hotch replied. He clammed up tight, clenched his mouth together, and put on a harsh face which warned Reid he had better not venture into the topic of this folder lightly, or Aaron Hotchner was going to take it as a personal affront. Reid sensed danger, and froze. He ran a hand back through his dangling hair and pushed it out of his face, off his cheeks. He tugged on his sweater cuffs and clutched them with his fingertips, huddling up inside the woolen warmth. Reid was beginning to blush. He stared at the folder, and up at Hotch again.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I fell in love with a Vegas showgirl?” Spencer said somewhat too brightly. Hotch snickered. He looked dubious and amused. “As God is my witness,” Reid added, raising his right hand.

“How old were you?” Aaron asked.

Reid thought for a moment before he answered, “Ten years, four months.”

Hotch bowed his head and chuckled. The tension was leaving his frame. His big shoulders drooped, shook, then rose again as he listened to Reid’s narrative.

“When my dad left us, my mom and I moved out of the family house. We found an apartment closer to downtown, closer to the college where my mom worked. The apartment was cozy and nice, and it was cheaper than keeping the house. We didn’t have to mow the lawn or fix the gutters. It was charming. It was an adventure for me.”

“Mm hmm,” Hotch nodded.

“Mom was in and out of reality. The college wanted to fire her because she kept missing classes, but because of her tenure, they assigned her grad student to teach her classes and put around the story that she was taking a sabbatical in order to finish a book. They cut her salary dramatically. It barely paid the bills. We lived on savings for a while, and on royalties from books and articles she had written. She even tried her hand at fiction, under nom de plume, of course. She was busy. I was left to my own devices a lot. I could set my own hours. I prowled around exploring the apartment complex and the nearby streets when she was asleep or busy, or when she would lock herself in her room and not talk to me. She’d do that sometimes. She cried a lot. She was very hurt when my father left. She never wanted me to see that she was hurt, but I knew she was mourning losing him.”

Reid paused to collect his thoughts, and Hotch had to wonder if the young man wasn’t making this up on the spot.

“So, one night I’m up late, very late, wandering around the apartment building, when our neighbor across the hall comes home,” Spencer said, folding his fingers together, rubbing his thumb across the palm of the other hand, staring down at his hand. “We had never seen her, but we had heard footsteps. Mom said she must be like Herne’s white stag – only those who were worthy could see her. That thought jumped back into my mind when I heard these clicking-clacking hoof beats come prancing around the corner. I was hypnotized, stuck on the spot, nowhere to hide.”

Hotch waited quietly as Reid stared off into the distance.

“She was the most gorgeous woman you had ever laid eyes on?” Aaron asked because Reid was too lost in thought to reply.

“No. She was disheveled. She was crying. She had a cut lip. She was as startled to see me as I was to see her. She stopped for a second, then she dashed past me and headed to her own door, except she was too drunk to get her deadbolt unlocked. Her key wouldn’t work. I went over to help her. Brought her a box of tissues and an icepack from our apartment. She stood there crying while I tried key after key. When I finally succeeded in getting her door open for her, she grabbed me and hugged me, and then disappeared inside.”

Hotch teased gently, “Diamond tears, stardust, perfume, and feathers?”

“Bacardi and coke, sweat, and blood, and fear,” Reid corrected. “I couldn’t help but be concerned about her. I started waiting for her, late at night, not where she could see me, but where I could see her. Sometimes her boyfriend followed her up the stairs, and they would argue in front of her door. I hated him, but not for the reasons you might think. I wasn’t jealous that they were a couple. I hated him because he scared her. He would slap her around. He would grab her by the shoulders and shake her like a toy. He enjoyed terrorizing her. It made him feel like a big man, pushing a woman around.”

“Is this an adventure, a comedy, or a love story?” Hotch asked.

“It’s a tragedy, I’m afraid,” Reid whispered. “Cora got wise to the fact I was watching and waiting, and so she began to invite me into her apartment, and we would talk.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. Everything. News. Weather. Baseball statistics. She was an Astros fan, originally from Houston.”

“Hmm. A tragedy indeed.”

“Cora was special. She was very kind. I always thought she would make a good teacher, or a good mother.”

“Reid, is this the lurid tale about how you lost your virginity?" Hotch teased kindly. Spencer narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“No. That would be classified under the horror genre, as it were. Hotch, I was ten. Cora was twenty-eight. She didn't want to sleep with me. She wanted to mother me, that's all. She would feed me. Bring me sweets. Make pancakes. We’d watch cartoons. I'd sit on her lap. She'd play with my hair. One time, she brought home this huge piece of rum cake with coconut icing, and we ate it off the same plate.”

“Contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” Hotch murmured gently.

“After we had been friends for a few months, Cora came out and asked me what was wrong with my mom, why no one would see her for days at a time, why I was left on my own so often. I was surprised, relieved even. I burst into tears right there. You know, she didn’t make fun of me for it. She put her arms around me, and she held me, and she told me it would be okay. Cora was the only adult, the only one, who ever asked me what was wrong, and asked me if I needed help. She said it was good that I wanted to take care of my mom on my own, but there was going to come a point when I wasn’t going to be able to do it all by myself, and that it would be okay to ask for help. It wasn’t going to make me a bad person, or make me less of a man, if I couldn’t do it all by myself,” Reid rambled through the words, and looked away again, biting his mouth and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes grew damp, but the tears dried away.

Hotch held back any smart remark he might have thought about making. He also fought back the urge to reach over and pat Reid’s arm.

“What happened to Cora?” Aaron wondered. Reid’s expression grew even more miserable.

“One night in late-October, she didn’t come from work. I waited until dawn, but I had to get ready for school. When I came home, I checked on my mom, and then I waited all night again for Cora. This went on for four nights. By that time, I was more than worried – I was frantic. I told my mom everything, especially about Cora’s boyfriend Gianni. Mom and I both waited for Cora Friday night, and when she didn’t show again, my mom called the police.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“Because I was terrified the authorities would find out about my mom, and take her away, and take me away too, but thankfully she was having a lucid evening. The police came to our door, and asked if we had called about our neighbor, Miss Kirby. It wasn’t a patrol officer. It was a detective who came to see us.”

“Cora Kirby?” Hotch inhaled. “What year was this?”

“So you know how this story ends, don’t you?” Reid asked. “1992.”

“I remember the case very well, yes. We discussed it in one of my law classes, whether it was a crime of passion, or a pre- meditated act of first degree murder. One of Cora’s co-workers got suspicious because no one had seen Miss Kirby for several days. She asked a cocktail waitress to distract Gianni while she popped open the trunk of his car. She found Cora inside, and called the cops. The boyfriend claimed Cora was having an affair, and when he confronted her they fought. He got angry, and lost his temper, and he killed her. He stuck her in the trunk because he was scared of what he had done and didn't know what else to do with her. The boyfriend was eventually convicted of killing Cora.”

“Giancarlo didn’t kill Cora. He bludgeoned her to death with a tire iron. He pushed her to the ground, put his foot on her chest, and he bashed in her face, and as she lay bleeding and whimpering and still alive, he stomped her skull until it was flat. Then he kept her body in the trunk of her car, because he was so possessive and jealous that he was determined to keep her all to himself, even in death.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That son of a bitch got fifteen years, and he served seven. Seven years. Two thousand, five hundred, and fifty-five days for violent, bloody, first-degree, pre-meditated homicide,” Reid ranted bitterly.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch repeated.

“Do you know how many times I watched him shake her and shout at her, and threaten that he was going to kill her?”

“I can’t imagine what you were feeling.”

“You know what I remember most about how the case was covered? It wasn’t about the crime that Giancarlo had committed against Cora. Gianni’s lawyers made the case all about Cora. She was from a broken home. Her father had abused her. She had been married and divorced twice before she was twenty-five. She had abandoned her baby in Houston when she moved to Vegas. She had been arrested for soliciting on numerous occasions—they made a huge deal about the fact she had a criminal record, but didn't say dick about Gianni's history of violence against women, or the fact he had served three years in the Pen for breaking his own mother's jaw. They said Cora was a femme fatale who used her beauty and her job as an entertainer to lead men on, use them for money, and then throw them away when she was done with them. I was so furious I couldn't eat or sleep. Mom stopped letting me read the articles.”

“It’s a common tactic used by defense attorneys, diverting attention away from your client’s guilt and towards the victim’s perceived sins. Anything that will make your client look better,” Hotch admitted. "It's disgusting and deplorable, but they do it because it works. Bad things shouldn't happen to good people. If you can make people look bad, then you make what happened to them divine punishment for their sins."

“Cora was a good person. She worked her ass off dancing in shows seven nights a week, earning money to send home to her mother in Houston, who was raising Cora’s daughter. She didn't abandon her baby. She loved her daughter so much. Look at the way she looked after me. She felt horribly guilty that she had had to leave her daughter behind. She was desperate to prove to herself she was a good mother. That's why she cared for me.”

“I understand you want to defend Cora. She was nice to you.”

“I mean, those bastards made it sound like Gianni had done society a favor by killing Cora. It made me sick. Cora was a beautiful person outside, but she was even more beautiful inside, because she was kind and loving. I wasn’t in love with a showgirl, Hotch. I was in love with the nice lady who looked after me, who talked to me instead of ignoring me because I wasn’t any concern of hers. She wasn’t like all the other people who turned a blind eye to what was going on with my mother because they didn’t want to get involved in a mess.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch repeated. 

Reid shook himself, shook off the emotions, let drop the cold mask that he used to keep himself from being or admitting when he was hurt.

“We can’t undo what has been done. But I want you to know, if I ever decide to turn to a life of crime, if I ever snap and go on an interstate killing spree, I’m going to start in New Jersey, at a blue split-level house in Paramus, where a hairy, disgusting goat of a man is living out his life with a wife and four kids, while Cora Kirby rots in a grave in Houston, Texas, and her daughter grows up without a mother,” Reid raged, then drew himself back in, cleared his throat, and coughed.

“Good to know,” Hotch whispered, giving a quick flicker towards a thin smile. He was glad to see that Reid hinted at a tiny nervous smirk as well.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about all of that,” Spencer added, curling up more tightly in his big sweater. “Cora wouldn’t want me to kill Gianni. She would say life will exact its own revenge, by and by.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Aaron murmured. He wondered how this sad tale was tied to his own dilemma. Reid took a deep breath, and explained.

“What I’m saying is, we’ve all fallen in love with someone where it didn’t work out, where it could never have been what we might have hoped for, where the reality was never going to measure up to the fantasy, but that doesn’t make those feelings of love and tenderness any less valid for not being possible.”

Hotch bit his mouth closed, and stared down at the table, at his hands, at his short, uneven nails.

“Do you remember the first man you ever kissed?” Hotch asked. Reid blinked rapidly, not only from the abruptness of the personal question, but because Hotch was actually breaching the polite distance between them. He was demonstrating both his certain knowledge that Reid was bisexual and his own willingness to reveal that he too had bi-curious leanings. Reid had opened the door to intimate and personal discussions by telling Cora’s story, but he was surprised Hotch had reciprocated so quickly.

“It was not the most pleasant experience,” Reid answered honestly. He waited, unsure even yet. 

Having been given permission to speak on the topic, Reid hesitated nervously, opened the folder. He turned pages, letting his nervous blush settle before he continued to speak. 

“Foyet spent a lot of time in this folder, and he removed a trophy from here as well.”

“He did,” Hotch admitted.

Reid pulled out a group of four pictures, setting them out for Hotch. Aaron studied the pictures as if seeing them for the first time – this set of four which had once been a set of five. Picture #1: Haley and Hotch, barely twenty, dressed casually, college logo blazoned on Hotch’s big chest. Where had all that floppy hair gone to? Picture #2: Haley and Hotch, sprawled together on a divan piled with blankets and rough, ugly pillows. A sleep-over with friends. Picture #3: Haley and a blond man who had his face turned away, his back to the camera, because he was in the process of kissing Haley while touching her breasts. Picture #4: Hotch and the same man, face turned away again, because this time, he was kissing Hotch.

“His name was Christopher. He was in my lit class. He was in the same year, but he seemed older, wiser, more mature for his age than everyone around him. He was brilliant. He was so different. He stood out. He really stood out. I found him very interesting,” Hotch whispered, and then said no more. He cleared his throat, gathered up the pictures, stuffed them in the folder, put the folder away. He scratched under his chin, under his jaw, avoiding Reid’s eyes.

“The picture Foyet stole. It showed Christopher’s face?” Reid wondered.

“Yeah,” Hotch nodded.

“Do you know where Christopher is now?” Reid asked.

“No. I haven’t spoken to him in years,” Hotch murmured, clearing his throat.

“You asked me yesterday not to intrude into your personal business, and I won’t go where you don’t invite me, but I believe it would only be prudent to break the silence with Christopher, and warn him about Foyet. It’s quite possible Foyet might find him and do him great harm.”

“Why would Foyet harm Christopher?”

“The same reason he might seek to harm Haley and Jack.”

“Why? It was fling. It was a one-time thing. We kissed. We fooled around a little. I was scared to death and nervous as hell. When it came time to actually..... you know. I couldn’t….oh God, I can’t even say it. I was terrified, and I freaked out. It was so awkward that we never spoke about it again. Kinda drifted apart after that. It was decades ago. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Foyet doesn’t know that. It wouldn’t matter, even if he did know that. He will see Christopher in the same light as he sees Haley.”

“What are you saying, Reid?”

“Hotch, it’s clear Foyet’s interest in you goes beyond professional.”

“Meaning what?” Hotch rumbled.

Reid paused, took a breath, and said, “I believe he has demonstrated a personal and sexual interest in you.”

Hotch shook his head no, redness flaring up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re wrong. Foyet was never profiled as being homosexual,” Hotch disagreed.

“He stabbed you, Hotch, repeatedly.”

“That doesn’t mean it was with sexual intent,” Hotch denied hotly, but a shudder took his frame. He seemed to crawl fearfully inside himself for a moment or two, and stare back from within a prison in his mind. A buried memory surfaced, of George Foyet leaning over him, straddling his thighs, the undeniable rush of ecstasy on Foyet’s face. The bile rose in Aaron’s throat. He fought with that memory, pushed it back under, hid it, sat on it, shoved it in a black box and slammed the lid. His breath rushed for a second or two. Reid watched him silently, sadly, his boyish face growing serious with concern.

“Wasn’t it?” Reid asked. 

“NO!” Hotch shouted emphatically, hands tightening into fists, teeth bared, face askew with fury. He snatched forward with both hands.

Spencer hopped up and out of range, like a startled rabbit. He stood from the table, and carefully put the folders back into the box, arranging them alphabetically.

“Reid, Foyet is not in love with me!” Aaron insisted, breathing rushing, face flushing. He retreated to his own side of the table, ashamed and upset. “I’m sorry, sorry I yelled, sorry about….. but no, you’re wrong. It’s not love.”

“I never said he was in love with you. No. Love isn’t definitely not what Foyet feels for you, Hotch. He doesn’t want to hold your hand, sit and watch old movies, feed you popcorn, or breathe sweet nothings in your ear.”

“Reid, Foyet is not gay.”

“I never said he was gay. I said he’s sexually attracted to you, and he doesn’t have a great track record with people he’s attracted to, does he? Look what happened to his poor fiancée. Think about the brutality he exacted on his female victims. George Foyet is the last person….”

“I just…I can’t….I…” Hotch stammered. “I can’t deal with… no,” he said finally. “No. You’re wrong. That’s not what this is. You’re totally wrong.”

“Aaron, he went through your personal information, and focused briefly on your professional career, but concentrated the bulk of his attention on the details of your divorce and your personal life. He emphatically threatened your wife and child, and now he has stolen a picture of the one and only man you’ve ever been sexually attracted to,” Reid pointed out quietly. “You don’t think that demonstrates an interest in your sexual habits?”

“No,” Hotch insisted. “You’re wrong.”

Reid put the lid on the box and gently pushed it towards Hotch.

“You don’t have to tell Christopher everything. But you should warn the man.”

“It doesn’t mean….”

“Hotch, Foyet wants to destroy you and everyone you’ve ever loved. Don’t take the chance.”

Reid turned to leave the room, pulling his crutches under his arms, but Hotch sprang up from the chair and raced over, taking hold of Spencer’s hand. 

“Wait,” Hotch pleaded. “What?” Reid asked softly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Apology accepted,” Reid said simply. But it wasn’t enough. Hotch did not yet feel absolved.

“Sorry I…I’m sorry I tried to grab you. That’s not me.”

“No. I imagine it was your father. It makes me wonder how many times he grabbed you that way when you said something that upset and angered him. It also makes me wonder what happened after he grabbed you.”

“I….” Aaron’s voice caught in his throat. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable in many years. He didn’t like it. It might have made him very resentful, but Reid’s gaze was steady and soothing, and non-judgmental. It wasn’t pity in those large amber eyes. Compassion, certainly. But not pity.

“We both know that physical violence is a learned response to stressors. Offenders who resort to bodily harm invariably witnessed violence when they were children. If violence is demonstrated in the home, the children of that home have a pre-disposition towards continuing the cycle of violence when they grow up. You acted out what you witnessed, what you experienced. You felt I was attacking you. You reacted instantaneously in the manner most natural to your upbringing. You don’t have to apologize,” Reid promised.

“I am not dangerous or violent. That’s not who I am.”

“Chester Hardwick,” Spencer murmured.

“What about him?” Hotch stepped back.

“While I admire the amount of personal character, fortitude, and determination it takes to break the cycle of violence, the damage done when you were a child cannot be fully erased. Aaron, you can be dangerous and violent when provoked. You have used your physical presence and the threat of violence to intimidate unsubs, and anyone else who crossed a certain line with you. You raise your voice. You get in their face. You use your body as a threat. That does not make you less of man, Hotch. Some would say it makes you more of a man than someone who would talk his way out of the situation.”

“I don’t happen to share that opinion,” Hotch decided skeptically. “Neither do you.”

“Why should it matter what I think?”

“What you think matters very much to me. You were frightened. I saw it in your face. Your first reaction was to jerk out of range. I don’t want you to be scared of me. I’d never hurt you.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice dodging danger. You’re not the first angry Alpha male who has lunged at me because I was running off at the mouth,” Spencer replied, giving a pert smile. He turned again to go. Hotch gently slid his hand onto Reid’s arm.

“Wait. Don’t go. I’m going to need your help to find Christopher. After that, I’ll drive you home,” Aaron replied.

Reid hobbled to turn around and face Aaron. He dropped his eyes to stare at Hotch’s big, black, wingtip shoes.

“Will you check under the bed for me?” Spencer joked gently, lifting his eyes again. Hotch gave a slight smirk.

“I’ll check under the bed and in the closet,” Aaron promised.

“I’m serious,” Reid shivered. “It scares me that Foyet is out there. It should scare you too.”

Hotch rubbed up and down Reid’s sweater sleeve, once, twice.

“I’m not scared of Foyet,” Aaron whispered. 

“I am.”

“I don’t want you to be scared of Foyet, or of me,” Aaron murmured.

“Hotch, it’s in my nature to be scared. Perpetually scared. It’s who I am. It keeps me alive. I can’t change my nature any more than you can change yours. We can temper it, try to control it, but when push comes to shove, whether we like it or not, our fundamental nature defines how we react. You stare. I blink. You fight. I flee. You are the loup, and I am the lapin. You’re the predator, and I’m the prey.”

“That’s not true,” Hotch frowned. “I’m not a wolf, and you’re certainly not a rabbit.”

“Hmm,” Reid hummed, a sad look taking over his eyes for a flash before mischief crept back in. “Thank you for the transparent yet heart-felt attempt at soothing my fragile ego. Grab your files. We’ll go borrow Garcia’s network to find your college friend. Yeah, that won’t be hard. I wonder how many blond American men in their mid-forties are named ‘Christopher’?”

Hotch picked up the box off the table, and followed Reid out of the stark-white interrogation room.

“You mean you don’t know?” Aaron teased.

“Bite me,” Spencer growled back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

The caverns were dark and cold and dank, as caverns often are. The sound of trickling water echoed throughout the rocky corridors, and could be heard at some distance. Aaron moved carefully along, back to the wall, his chest tightening with pain. He had wandered the ancient forest for days in an attempt to find the entrance to these mythical caverns, and the journey had taken its toll on him. 

Having found the entrance at last, he had rushed inside without a thought to how long the underground journey might take. He leaned against the wall and breathed shallowly, waiting for the pain in his ribs to subside. When he could pick himself up from the dank wall and continue, he realized that the ground beneath his feet was beginning to descend, leading him slowly downward and inward.

Aaron held his dim torch above, hoping to better light the way. He disturbed more than one denizen of the hollow, winding way. Rats would dash and disappear. Bats would dart away, shrieking their displeasure with the intrusion. He turned one junction and jolted back when eight eyes the size and color of luminous pearls stared back at him from overhead. Aaron took a deep breath, winced in pain, and held the torch up again. Whatever it had been had withdrawn into a crevice between two planes of rock. Only the very tips of two hairy front legs could be seen.

Aaron scampered quickly ahead, looking behind himself again, again, again.

Up ahead, the faint glimmer of light could be detected. The sound of rushing water was growing stronger. Aaron steeled himself with the knowledge that his journey was nearing its end, and that gave him the strength to keep moving. Aaron had heard tales about the man he was seeking. He had heard that braver knights than he was had ventured into these caverns and were never seen again. He tried not to let the tales of dragons and cannibalism, secret potions and fell enchantments frighten him. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t afraid of such tales. He needed a doctor, a healer, a learned mage, a man who could cure his battle wounds once and for all.

He thought he felt an arm brush his arm, or had it been a hand? Aaron leapt aside, whirled around, and stuck his torch towards the source of the contact. A light brown hare bounced past him towards the promise of light which glimmered ahead. The hare raced past Aaron like a small, furry comet. 

There was a heady scent on the air now – damask roses and cinnamon and a drink which Aaron had partaken of when he was in the Holy Land, one the Turks had called ‘kahve’ and the Italians had called ‘caffe’. Why would a rabbit smell like a hunger- dulling, sleep-preventing drink from the Middle East?

Aaron stilled his pounding heart and laughed at himself. The pain returned, more stiff and cruel than the cold blade which had caused the injuries, turning the self-deprecating humor in shivers of pain. Aaron needed help. There was no time to lose. He dragged himself towards the concealed cavern, the sound of the hidden brook, the smell of cinnamon and coffee and roses.

“Hotch?”

Hotch opened his eyes, rubbed his itching jaw, and stared ahead. He didn’t recognize anything in front of him, and he was shivering with cold. Someone lowered a blanket over his shoulder, and tucked it against his chest. Startled by the closeness, Hotch bolted upright, unaware he had fallen sideways. He collided with a solid form. Reid toppled over between the divan and the coffee table. A crutch smacked Hotch in the face. He wasn’t sure for a moment if that had been an accident or not. Reid was glaring up at Hotch, his face a mask of displeasure.

“Do you need help up?” Aaron offered.

“Touch me, and you die, Hotchner,” Reid declared forcefully. Hotch had been considering where and how to pick Spencer up, but wisely decided against any such maneuvers. He was having a bad feeling of déjà vu as he watched Reid pulling himself slowly and carefully up onto the couch, even more carefully back into an upright and standing position. Aaron nervously handed Spencer the crutch he had been clutching.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Reid wondered.

“I fell asleep,” Aaron mumbled.

“Yes. We were talking, and you fell asleep mid-word,” Reid agreed with a grunt.

It took Aaron a moment or two to recall what they had been discussing. He was suddenly so exhausted, body and soul. It came back to him though. He had driven Reid home, then walked through the apartment with him to check that it was empty. He had sat down on the couch for a second, because Reid began to ask him questions about how Christopher was getting along. 

Reid had excused himself to use the restroom while Hotch made the brief and awkward phone call.

Hotch had given one and two words answers to Reid’s questions. His own words rolled back to him.

“He moved to Colorado after college. Worked in radio. Transitioned to television. Does the morning news. Lives with a boyfriend and two cats. He’s happy. I’m glad for that.”

“I prefer cats to dogs too,” Reid had said. That had been a minute or two ago. Aaron had drifted off without answering, only to wake up to Reid putting a blanket on him. Or had he answered? Reid said he stopped mid-word.

“I should go home,” Aaron announced. “What time is it? Almost 5. It’s getting dark.”

“Hotch, it’s not getting dark. I pulled the shades so you could sleep,” Reid replied. “You sure you don’t want to stretch out on the bed in the bedroom?”

“I should go home,” Hotch repeated.

“You are in no condition to drive. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you up. You were shivering. You needed a blanket.”

“Why is it so goddamn cold in here?” Hotch grumbled.

“I jacked up the AC too high. Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Hotch whispered, hunching down and hiding inside the huge blanket Reid had draped over him. It was warm as Heaven, deep blue, and heavy with shifting down feathers.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” Reid asked.

"I don't know," Hotch sighed.

“Are you hungry? I’m getting hungry. I can cook something. Or I can order something.”

“Do you cook?” Hotch teased softly.

“It’s hard to cook for one. I have to be in the mood to eat a dish for a week if I cook for myself. It’s easier to eat one large meal out a day, and snack the rest of the time, healthy snacks – fruit, vegetables, nuts, the like. I indulge in cooking on special occasions, or when I get a special craving, but most of the time, it’s easier to order in when it’s just me,” Reid explained.

“I don’t want to be a pain.”

“Oh, my dear, you’ve already been more than a pain,” Reid tormented grimly. “Name your poison or your pleasure, and I will seek to provide,” he added, giving a slight bow and limping towards the tall table across the room that was dim with shadows, almost like a cave.

Hotch could hear running water in the distance, like a brook hidden away in the caverns in a dense forest.

Hotch blinked and mumbled, “Whatever you want.”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll order the food and take a quick shower. I’ll wake you when the food arrives,” Spencer promised tenderly. Hotch sighed, faced forward, and realized Reid had dropped two pillows in front of the divan. Hotch picked one pillow up, fluffed it grumpily, and tucked it under his head. He reclined against the arm of the sofa, and listened to Reid stirring around behind him, speaking in strange tongues, like a dark wizard casting an enchantment in the night. He plucked the other pillow off the ground and hugged it to his aching chest.

Reid hung up the phone and came back to the divan.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked. “You’ll feel better. The hot water will relax your muscles. Hotch?”

Hotch heard the words, but he felt so heavy with sleep, so comfortable under the duvet, so relaxed suddenly, that he could not bring himself to rise up and answer.  
He thought for a split second that a hand had gently stroked his cheek, but he decided he must have been imagining that. He did not, however, imagine the kiss which touched his crown. He gave into the desire to sleep, preferring to imagine the kiss had been his imagination too.

Spencer eventually gave up waiting for an answer. He vanished towards the sound of running water. Hotch slept on, blissfully unaware that he was snorting and snoring as he dreamed.

By and by, Aaron found himself at the portal to the cavern. It might as well have been the doorway to another dimension. It was other-worldly, like a vision from a dream. The light that poured out of the room and into the rocky corridor was not from a cauldron fire or a torch, but the flames from a hundred candles glowing in a massive circular chandelier which hung from the ceiling. Natural light also poured in through a source yet undetermined from where Aaron stood. The wounded knight settled his torch into the metal holder by the entrance.

No one appeared to be home. He stepped inside to examine the marvelous wonders which were spilled out in every direction.

There were books upon books upon books – stacked in shelves, stacked on one another, stacked in piles clear to the rocky ceiling, which had been reinforced with massive beams like the great hall of an ancient castle, or like the hull of a sailing ship. There were books in every language. Books in foreign and forgotten and abandoned and forbidden languages. Books of every shape and size and texture imaginable. Books left open to invite a glance at scripts and diagrams and magic and mystery. Books locked and sealed tight, with enchantments woven across them to ward away the curious and unwary eye.

A crystal circular globe rested on top of a desk that spanned part of the area before the fireplace. Aaron edged closer to the large desk to examine the curious thing. The crystal orb was covered with constellations laid out in golden dots, well- rubbed from many an astrological consultation. Unfinished coffee glittered like liquid jewels is a glass and metal cup near a purple plume which rested in a squat black well. He studied the bottles and phials and jars that filled the far wall behind the desk. An amazing light shined through their contents, as though they were illuminated by their own existence and each other. No. This wall of bottles concealed the natural light beyond. Damask roses were blooming beside the wall of jars. The delicate plant was jutting up from a planter the size of a hogshead of wine. Jet black feathers danced overhead. Aaron ducked in response, but straightened up again when he spied the source. A raven took flight from between two bottles, and it crossed directly over him on its way through the wondrous room and out through what appeared to be a solid wall. As the raven disappeared, a movement nearby drew Hotch’s eyes.

The light brown hare which had rocketed past him bounced calmly out from under the desk and hopped its way beneath one of the fur coverlets draped over a wooden chair. The chair shared the hearth with the desk. Its exact mate rested on the working side of the desk. The wooden chair had flat, comfortable arms, a cloth seat, and crossed legs beneath it.

The chair was laid out with many fur coverlets which spilled over and draped onto the stone floor. The luxurious seat was inviting Aaron to come relax in its soothing embrace. It promised comfort and warmth, and so he accepted the invitation.

“Poor dear. You’re so tired,” a voice whispered, close, too close.

Aaron’s eyes jolted open. A figure was kneeling before him, a young man with long hair which draped in damp curls over part of his face, dressed in a long sweeping robe of forest green. This was not the face of a terrifying mage, but that of a young acolyte at best.

“Close your eyes. Rest. The food will wait until you have slept.”

Food had magically appeared on a low table next to the chair in which Hotch was fighting sleep. Dishes of vegetables and spiced meats, fragrant jasmine and cardamom rice and aromatic breads filled the room. Aaron was suddenly overwhelmed with hunger. Amber eyes – like honey in a jar – followed his every move, anticipated his need. The tall, thin mage lifted a disc of bread, pulled it in half, and gave one portion to Aaron while keeping one for himself.

He was hungry as well, it appeared. He sank awkwardly to the ground and nibbled on the bread while Hotch stared at it, surprised by the gentle give of the warm dough, feeling salt crystals on his fingertips, unfamiliar green herbs sprinkled on the crispy top.

“The bread is heavenly when warm. Tikka and naan. Nothing like it,” the mage murmured between bites.

Hotch tried a few bites, enough to drive away the hunger pangs. His eyes were drooping once more. His hand rested in his lap. His chin descended to his chest.

“ ‘I can see the destiny you sold. Turned into a shining band of gold’,” the mage whispered, caressing Hotch’s hand and his wedding band as he delicately lifted the nibbled bread from his grip and set it back on the low table. He pulled himself upright with a great deal of difficulty, dragging his twisted leg as he made his way to the desk, leaning on the gnarled wooden staff which he pulled seemingly from thin air.

Hotch welcomed the sleep, though it worried him to let himself be so vulnerable to a stranger. Aaron wondered as he slept if the tales he had heard about the mage were true, if he could heal with a single touch, if he could steal a man’s soul with one glance.

How had he injured his leg? If he was such a renowned healer, how had he not managed to cure his own injury?

Time passed slowly. Aaron wasn’t sure how long he had been under, but when Morpheus at last had had his fill of the knight, wakefulness inched into him like the sap of spring returning to a winter tree. Renewed strength flowed through his limbs, filled him, ebbed and flowed around him.

Aaron sat up, stretching, pushing off the fur pelt which had been laid over his sleeping form. The young mage had not moved from the desk. He was poring over a large text, turning thick pages, eyes scanning the manuscript at an unbelievable rate of speed.

“Good. Finally, you are coming ‘round. I was beginning to fear I was too late to relieve the enchantment under which you have been placed.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes skeptically, watching with some trepidation as the slender sorcerer in the flowing robe of forest green pulled himself up from the chair at the desk and approached the chair upon which Aaron was seated. The mage's gnarled wooden staff stamped the stone floor like a third leg. With the flick of a hand, he moved the low table aside, in order to kneel down before Aaron and study him more closely, as if he could read his injuries in his face alone. It took a great deal of effort for the mage to get down to the stone floor. He placed his staff aside, running his fingertips along the runic inscription on the head of the knob.

“Tell me what troubles you, my lord,” he pleaded.

“Nothing troubles me,” Aaron responded.

The mage gave a thin smile, and his weary face lit with kindness and fondness.

“You came all this way, braved thieves and highwaymen, slept with wolves circling your camp, descended into primeval caverns in search of a healer, all for no reason?”

“I was injured in battle.”

“Yes, yes, you were. T’was not the blade wounds which did the worst damage, but the poisoned arrow which pierced your heart.”

“I was wounded in battle. A dark knight stabbed me through the chest. I can show you the wounds. They will not heal. Though it was been many weeks, I feel the pain anew each morning.”

“Why did your wife leave you, sire?”

“She fled in search of safety, took my son. The knight who wounded me in battle seeks now to harm them.”

“No, my lord. Your wife left you long before she fled. Once you were very close, two pebbles on the same mountain. But a tiny rift formed between you. That rift became a divide. And that divide became a valley. That valley became a chasm. She shot an arrow at you across that chasm, a parting gift before she left, and she pierced you through your armor. Who better than she knew your weakest point? She stripped you of the security you sought in marriage, stole the cherished stability of hearth and home, wife and child, a fantasy you sheltered from distant youth, a fantasy which bore you through many a lean and hungry year. You thought you had found your life-mate in her. I am sorry she left you, sire, sorry she felt the need to wound you, sorry you placed your trust in someone who was not worthy of you in the end.”

“I love my wife. I will always love my wife,” Aaron replied, voice trembling with emotion. “I would do anything for her. Face any danger. Surmount any foe. I would give my life for her.”

“I don’t doubt you would,” the mage soothed.

“This isn’t about my wife. This is about the knight who injured me in battle.”

“Is it not about your wife, my lord? For as much as this knight has wounded you, she has wounded you far more gravely.”

“What would you know of such emotions, locked away here in your lair, with your books and your enchantments and your animal familiars? You’ve never known love. You’ve never been wounded such as I have been wounded,” Aaron lamented.

“Oh, sire, I know you strike out at me in pain, but be mindful of your words, for you do not know of what you speak. You do not know me, nor do you know the travails I have endured to be where you find me.”

“I’ve heard whispers, whispers that you sold your soul to the Devil for all the knowledge of the universe. Whispers that anyone who comes to you for help has vanished, never to be seen again.”

“Yet you made this trek to find me nonetheless?”

“I’m wounded. I need help to heal.”

“Are you willing to pay whatever price I ask?” the mage tested Aaron.

“If you can help me, help take away this pain, I will,” Aaron agreed. “I bear coin enough to satisfy even your worst greed. I carry jewels and gems – precious, rare, and valuable.”

“Goodly knight, I desire neither coins nor gems. There is no jewel so rare or precious that it would tempt me. I am not a avaricious dragon, building a hoard of golden treasure beneath this mountain. I came here like you, seeking knowledge and safety, a place to heal my wounds imagined and real. I found safety, but solitude as well. Too much solitude.”

“What happened to you to bring you here?”

“I reached too high, too far, too soon.”

“The fall to Earth came as a terrible shock, did it?” Aaron asked.

The mage pulled his robe back from his twisted leg, staring down at the mangled, scratched, scarred limb, giving Aaron enough time to see it well before he drew the covering over it once more.

“I was priest before, a learned man, a rising son full of promise. But I sought to learn too much, and those above me, those heavenly suns and moons who feared I might eclipse them, they made certain my descent was rapid and spectacular, a brilliant falling star to light the night sky. In short, I was lured to an amorous assignation by someone I trusted too much, where I was sprang upon by several knights, beaten and broken, and pushed from a tower in the dead of night. Luckily a blackthorn hedge broke my fall before I reached rock bottom. When I regained consciousness, I scurried away, dragging my wounded, bleeding parts as I went.”

Aaron gasped in pity, reaching out a hand to rest it on the mage’s shoulder.

“Forgive me and my foolish words.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. I know your pain blinds your sense of reason, and that you did not mean to draw blood.”

“Can you help me?”

“I can and I will, but you must trust me.”

“I trust you,” Aaron murmured. The mage took hold of the knight’s hand, drew his fingers to his lips, and kissed them. The brush of those velvet lips intrigued Aaron. He wondered what they might taste like, as he watched candlelight color the mage’s face with gold and red and honey. For a moment only, Aaron glimpsed through the façade and saw the scars beneath, the scratches from the hedge thorns. The scars did not frighten or repel Aaron. They only made his sympathy for the mage grow stronger.

The mage wobbled to get to his knees, to crawl between Aaron’s legs where the knight sat in the wooden chair. Lips were on his own, leaving sweet and gentle kisses which roused a hunger in Aaron’s body which he had not felt for untold years. Thin hands rose up around his shoulders, encircled him, drew him close. Aaron’s own hands, rough like leather, calloused from his weapon’s grip, slid inside the mage’s robe, seeking he knew not what, but determined to find it nonetheless. The knight pushed open the mage’s green robe, buried his nose in the warm, naked crevice where the mage’s shoulder met his neck. His skin tasted of salt and sugar, and smelled of roses. They were out of the chair and on the floor now, spread before the fireplace on the stones.

Aaron moved on instinct, pushing away his own clothes and the mage’s robe too, seeking skin-to-skin contact. The flush of passion warmed him. The enticement of sensual pleasure was too close now to stop.

The mage lay back against the stones, face pink with arousal, his erection rising to met Aaron’s own sex. Aaron watched the mage’s face. His round, full mouth fell open around a wanton moan. The knight ran a rough hand down between the mage’s legs, caressed his hard sex, and stroked him handily, moved closer in order to stroke himself at the same time.

Funny that his chest wasn’t hurting any longer.

The mage’s arms fell back above his head. He stretched out, reaching, clawing at the stone floor as Aaron moved over him, stroking their cocks together.  
Aaron wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, only he was happy that what he was doing seemed perfectly pleasurable to both of them.

“…inside….” The mage was panting and moaning, encouraging the knight with small sounds and little breathy pleas.

“Inside where?” Aaron fretted, pausing for a second.

The mage sat up, gasping for breath. He raised a hand, and Aaron thought he might be preparing to strike him for being so forward, but instead, a phial shot off the shelves and landed in the mage’s grip. Eyes burning with desire, the mage poured half the rose-scented phial in his own palm and half onto Aaron’s palm as well.

“Down here,” the mage murmured, guiding the knight’s hand.

“Surely not,” Aaron protested, tugging his hand away.

“Most assuredly,” the mage slurred, happy with delicious anticipation.

Any further doubts dissipated when the mage’s hand encircled Aaron’s cock, pumping him, readying him, drawing him back to full attention. The slender man pushed the knight onto his back on the stone floor, mere inches from the fireplace, which was burning hot as the hinges of Hell. He mounted the knight, pushed himself down onto Aaron’s aching cock with an inhalation that spoke of equal parts pleasure and pain. Kneeling precariously over Aaron’s hips and thighs, the mage rocked awkwardly on his wounded leg and his good leg, moved with each thrust of the knight’s hips, up and slowly down, up and slowly down, groaning, writhing, whimpering.

Aaron lifted his hands up the mage’s sides, leaving a streak of slippery, rose-scented potion up his skinny ribs, across his shoulder, up his high throat. The mage took the hand and slid two of Aaron’s fingers into his mouth, sucking, teasing, nipping them, moaning around them, pumping his hips all the while. Aaron grasped at the mage’s hip with his other hand, hypnotized by the sucking sensation as much as the stars of pleasure shooting through his body from his core to the ends of his toes, out the crown of his head. The pain in his chest was but a distant memory.

The firelight glittered and flickered over the mage’s body, following the glittering trail of potion that Aaron had left on his skin. The mage was sobbing with pleasure, each tear a jewel on his skin. He let go of Aaron’s hand, and the knight caressed that glowing skin, thumbing pleasure points, stroking and squeezing the mage’s nipples, smiling at the way this made him buck and arch and squirm. The knight seized the mage’s waist, taking control of their co-mingled thrusts, pulling him forcefully downward, downward, harder, faster, delighting in the quivers that were shaking the mage. Aaron delighted even more in the sounds he was eliciting from the young man, uncontrolled cooing and whimpering.

The mage tilted his head back, and sandy honey curls dangled and danced on his shoulders and neck as the knight bounced him, treating him to a very rough ride indeed. But the end of the journey was nearer than they both expected. The mage cried out, loud and lustfully, splashing Aaron’s chest and stomach with warm, liquid  
pleasure. When the knight filled him in reply, the mage crooned his whole-hearted approval. He sagged, breathless and boneless against Aaron’s chest, caring nothing for the mess between them. He was a tangle of ebbing pleasure and loosened limbs. Those sandy honey tresses teased against Aaron's skin like pure, spun silk.

“Am I cured?” the knight panted.

Startled by the question, the mage lifted up his head. He gazed down into the knight’s dark eyes.

“It’s more a series of treatments than a one-time panacea, my lord,” he whispered sweetly.

“I understand,” the knight grinned in reply. “This could be a long recovery then?”

“It could, indeed, sire,” the mage cooed, nibbling kisses along Aaron’s chest and up his jaw to his chin.

“Hotch?”

Aaron started from his dream world at the sound of someone calling his name.

“Hotch? Are you okay?”

Someone was calling his name and rubbing his shoulder. That someone was clearly frightened. Hotch sat up on the divan, panting, shaking, quivering.

Reid was sitting on the coffee table, blinking at him, curled into a tight bundle of terror.

“Are you okay?” Spencer repeated, hands clutched together in front of his mouth, like a ‘speak no evil’ chimp.

“….dreaming…….” Hotch mumbled.

“You woke me. I heard you scream. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Hotch whispered.

“Would you….could you….I can’t….”

“What?” Aaron demanded.

“I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. It’s a very big bed, Hotch. We’ve shared a bed before, working on cases. I promise to stay on my own half. Would you come sleep in my room? You’ll be so much more comfortable,” Reid pleaded.

Aaron sighed as if terribly annoyed though he actually wasn't. He let himself be dragged to his feet. Reid clopped and hopped along on three legs, ushering Aaron down the hallway which led past the kitchen and the bathroom, and towards the large bedroom.

It was a very large bed indeed. Reid produced several more pillows, and clumped away to retrieve Hotch’s blanket from the living room sofa. Aaron crawled under Reid’s covers, fresh sheets which smelled heavily of fabric softener. Spencer returned, covered Hotch with the down comforter, and waited at the edge of the mattress until Hotch was entirely comfortable. Spencer put down his crutches, and hesitantly, carefully crawled under the sheets as well.

“I put the Indian food in the fridge,” Reid whispered in the darkness. “We can have it tomorrow when we wake up.”

“NNmmm,” Aaron grunted affirmatively.

“I could sleep forever,” Spencer sighed.

Hotch grunted in agreement. Reid was correct. This was a terribly comfortable bed, warm and soft and inviting. Aaron was back to sleep in less than two minutes. He was going to wake up in the few hours with Spencer Reid’s cold nose pressed against his spine, and a pillow pressed to his chest, but he wasn’t going to care at all.  
He hadn’t slept this well in years.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Kim's request for crutch sex. Hope this will do.
> 
> The music quote in chapter 4 is from "Wrapped Around Your Finger" by The Police.
> 
> The blackthorn hedge was borrowed from Mary =)


End file.
